The Grim
by The Marauder Lady
Summary: 'Was it just a coincidence that his best friend's animagus form looked like the Grim? Maybe. Maybe not.' Written for 31st October. Halloween as well as Jily Death Anniversary.


_Was it just a coincidence that his best friend's animagus form looked like the Grim? Maybe. Maybe not._

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><p>"<em>Potter! Potter! Potter!"<em>

The crowd present in the Quidditch Stadium was roaring the same thing over and over again – which was a particular black haired boy's name.

"_Potter! Potter! Potter!" _

As the fourteen Gryffindor and Slytherin students flew above the pitch, wearing red and green robes respectively, the crowd watched them like hawks through the misty drizzle that descended from the grey clouds above. Everyone's eyes were on just one player; Head Boy and the seventh year Gryffindor's Quidditch team Captain, whose team had scored a total of twelve goals – the same as the Slytherins.

To win the game, the Gyffindors had to make just one more goal and catch the snitch in time.

James Potter, whose name everyone present in the stadium was chanting – except the sweating Slytherins – flew with speed and precision, the red leathered Quaffle tucked safely under his arm. He made his way from the Gryffindors' goal post to the centre of the pitch in seconds - when his way was obstructed by a Slytherin chaser. James quickly dodged to his side and threw the Quaffle straight to another Gryffindor chaser, not giving any time to the Slytherins to catch it.

His arm muscles flexed as he stretched out his hand to signal for the seeker. With a quick look through his spectacles, a silent message was sent to the petite girl to catch the Snitch and get done with the game.

Focusing back, he swiftly flew to the Slytherins' goal post, took the pass from another chaser and goaled.

"130 points for Gryffindor!" the commentator's voice boomed.

A roar of joy erupted from the crowd and a particular red haired Gyffindor student clapped more that she should have - because it was a perfect goal made by the perfect man.

James, however, didn't grin or even smile. His eyes were scanning the air for the snitch and not a second after, the spectators, the commentator and even the players leapt up to their feet because apparently, the snitch had been spotted.

As the two seekers raced for the Snitch, as the crowd grew louder and more chaotic, as James Potter creamed encouragements to his team's seeker, sitting on his broomstick at a very dangerous height, a bludger came from nowhere and hit him right behind his head.

James Potter gasped, his head stung, he lost his balance and toppled off his broomstick.

_Down and down and down. _

He fell till he reached the ground with a _thud_ and a few _crack_s. His limbs hurt, his lungs burned and he couldn't breathe. Everything seemed bleary to him. He could hear, though, a very prominent, familiar, shrilly scream coming from the stands. It sounded like the red haired beauty he had fallen in love with. But he smiled, and laughed in his head.

_As if she'd care_, he thought bitterly.

His brain was fuzzy and he could hear his heart failing.

James looked up at the sky – the mist had cleared but it was still drizzling. The clouds were dense and dark.

He longed to see his friends one last time but the last thing he saw before he blacked out, was something that puzzled him till the day he died – it was a dark, sinister cloud, shaped perfectly like a dog; shaped perfectly like the Grim.

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><p>James Potter was sitting on the sofa, in the living room of their little cottage. Harry, his little baby boy was on his lap, bouncing and reaching out his hands to catch the coloured air rings that were coming out of his dad's wand. He groped for a pink one but when he opened his fist, the air had disappeared. However, he got no time to pout and strangle his father with his puny little hands before James bombarded him, to his joy, with another set of puffs.<p>

Harry laughed as he started to catch the puffs again and James bent down to kiss his baby boy's hair.

Harry had grown a lot these past few months. His green eyes which resembled his mother had opened up wider and become brighter. Even his hair had grown to resemble James' – black and messy. Everything about Harry made James happy; his chubby cheeks and his laugh which was exactly like the woman of his dreams. Even when Harry cried, James loved it because then he would get to see his wife sing and nurse him. And even when he turned moody, James loved him because Harry would then always pick up his toy broomstick, much like James.

James Potter loved his son and he wanted to give him the best of everything. Not the war, not the hiding, not the evil man hunting for him. He wished he could take Harry and his wife to a place where they could live happily but he also knew that he had responsibilities. As a father, he could not hand over a world of war and blood to his lovely son. He could not let the world be destroyed just because of his selfishness.

Therefore, James Potter fought with himself everyday to make his son happy. He hid his frustration, anger and depression behind a smile and tried to keep his family happy.

So, James Potter twirled his wand once more in his hand and let out another puff of air from his wand.

This time, the puff of air was neither coloured, nor round. James' eyes widened because he knew exactly what it was and he knew because he had seen it before. He could never have mistaken the shape for anything else.

Puzzled, he got up, threw his wand away on the sofa, just as his wife walked in.

He handed Harry over to Lily, his red haired wife, and stretched his arms and legs.

James didn't hear the front gate creak open, nor did he think of picking up his wand again because his mind was muddled up with cloudy figures.

Although he did hear the front door burst open and he did see Voldemort entering in.

He thought of Lily and his baby Harry.

He thought of the grey cloud.

He thought of his death.

"_**Avada Kedavra!" **_

_**... And James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut... **_

And James Potter's breath was snatched away by the tiny hands of the Grim Reaper.

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><p>Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and the bold part is a direct quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.<p>

Editing credits: Thank you Leina for being so amazing and beta reading this fic! :D

AND PLEASE REVIEW! I would really love some constructive criticism. Thanks!

Also, **A Very Happy Potter-y Halloween! **:D

_(RIP Jily though.)_


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